


BTHB: Tortured for Information

by Whumpadoodle



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BTHB, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Kidnapped, Tortured for information, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whumpadoodle/pseuds/Whumpadoodle
Summary: Set somewhere around season 5. Bad Things Happen when two hunters try to get to Sam through Dean.





	BTHB: Tortured for Information

Dean opened his eyes and groaned. The situation he found himself in was all too familiar. The room was smaller than a bedroom, but larger than a closet. Perhaps it had been a study or a den, back when the house wasn’t as dusty or decayed, back when people lived there. Maybe they had been nice people, he mused, not like these asshole hunters who had him tied to metal folding chair in an abandoned building that smelled like mold. 

He tugged experimentally at his restraints. His arms were behind him, so he couldn’t see what was holding his wrists to the rods of the chair, but they certainly felt like zip ties. And not garden variety, either. The heavy duty sort that were at least a half inch wide. He wouldn’t be getting out of those in a hurry.

Dean rolled his neck and groaned. He ached all over. His head ached from getting whacked in the skull, and his shoulders ached from getting shoved into a trunk. The rest of him ached from the beating the aforementioned assholes had administered after hauling him from that trunk. That beating had left him senseless, which was probably when they had shoved him in the chair. 

They had left him alone for the moment, and he was taking advantage of that to take stock of the room and his escape options. They were, unfortunately, dismal. 

The restraints had no give at all. Even if he dislocated his thumb—a solution he would go to great lengths to avoid—he doubted it would help. There was one door in the small room. There was also a window, but it was securely boarded up. He would have to make a racket that would raise hell to bust through that. And that was skipping the part where he was still tied to the chair.

He was experimenting with rocking the chair back and forth when he heard footsteps outside the door and froze. Two burly men entered. One of them stood a good three inches over six foot and weighed at least two fifty. The other was a few inches shorter and about twenty pounds heavier. Neither of them looked particularly pleased to see Dean.

“Hey, fellas!” The false cheer in his voice made him mentally wince. “This is quite the surprise. My birthday isn’t until next week. I certainly hope you didn’t go to any trouble on my account.” 

“Where’s Sam?”

All right, so they weren’t interested in chit chat. But they were interested in his brother, and that couldn’t be a good thing. “What do you want with Sammy when you’ve got me?” 

The backhanded slap caught Dean squarely on the mouth. The familiar, faintly metallic taste reached his tongue. 

“Cut the crap, Dean. Where is he?”

“Listen, fellas, I wish I could help. I really do. But I haven’t seen Sam in a week.” 

The taller man took a step forward, invading Dean’s space to loom over him. He grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair and yanked his head back, forcing the Winchester to look up at him. “Maybe you don’t hear so good. We want to know where Sam is, and we want to know now.” 

Single-minded. Dean could appreciate that, even if he didn’t appreciate the strain on his neck. He winced as the hunter applied more pressure, pulling his head back even farther. 

“I told you, I don’t know,” Dean repeated. “Maybe it’s you who aren’t hearing so good.” 

He knew that had been a bad idea before the words left his mouth, but he had never been great at filtering. Exactly how bad of an idea it had been was made clear to him as the hunter let go of his hair, only to bury his fist in Dean’s gut.

Dean doubled over—or rather tried to. The restraints kept him mostly upright. He coughed and fought the urge to retch all over himself. He managed to avoid that indignity, but just barely. He was tired of being hit, and he was beginning to get angry. 

The shorter hunter stepped forward then, resting a hand on his companion’s shoulder and drawing him back. “Listen, Dean,” he said calmly. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Tell that to Jumbo, there,” Dean coughed. 

“ _But,_ ” he continued firmly, “we will if you don’t tell us what we want to know. Your brother is a danger to himself and everyone around him. Tell us where he is, and we promise we’ll make his death quick and painless.”

If he was trying to be “good cop,” this guy sucked at it. Dean spat at his feet. “Screw. You.”

The hunter sighed, as if he truly regretted what they were doing. “Have it your way.” He nodded at his partner. The oaf grinned darkly and actually rubbed his hands together.

Dean quickly realized that what the pair lacked in brains, they made up for with brawn and inventiveness. The first blow set his nose bleeding, and the next his head ringing. He blinked, trying to regain equilibrium. He wasn’t allowed the luxury. The taller hunter rained punches hard and fast, bruising and possibly breaking a few ribs, blackening his eye, and again testing Dean’s resolve not to vomit. 

When the man stepped back, breathing heavily, Dean sagged in the chair. He could feel the blood trickling down his face from his nose, his mouth, a cut above his left eye. 

The second hunter knelt in front of him. “Come on, Dean. You can make this all stop right now. Just tell us where Sam is.”

“Sam…” Dean fought for breath. “Sam is….”

“Yes? Where is he, Dean?” He leaned forward intently. 

Dean spat a mouthful of blood all over the man’s shirt and face. “Sam is somewhere you’ll never find, jackass.”

The man recoiled, sputtering and trying frantically to wipe the blood away. “You’ll regret that, Dean Winchester!”

“Do your worst,” Dean snarled. Even bloodied, beaten, and tied to a chair, he still looked so intimidating that the shorter hunter scrambled back. 

Unfortunately, his friend wasn’t as easily cowed. He pulled out a long, sharp blade and set the tip between Dean’s collarbones. Dean swallowed hard while the knife tip dug in, blood springing from the puncture. The man moved the knife so slowly that Dean could feel his skin separate for the blade. He choked on a scream as the knife inched its way down his sternum, warmth following as the blood welled up around the metal.

“Think long and hard about what you say next, Dean,” he hissed. “I really wouldn’t mind killing you to get to Sam.”

Just as Dean was bracing himself for more pain, someone kicked the door in. Sam Winchester burst into the room, shotgun braced against his shoulder. 

“Step away from Dean,” he ordered, gesturing with the barrel of the gun. 

The two men edged away from their prisoner, glaring daggers at the tall young man.

“Your days are numbered, Sam,” said the man who had been doing most of the talking. “We’ll find you. And if we don’t, someone else will.” 

“Yeah? Tell them I’ll be waiting. Get out.”

The shorter man moved toward the door, but the taller man balked. He lunged at Sam. 

Sam pulled the trigger. The blast caught the man full in the chest, flinging him backward. 

“You—you killed him!” The hunter sounded genuinely shocked, as if he and his partner hadn’t moments earlier been beating Dean Winchester to a bloody pulp. 

“It’s rock salt, you idiot. Take him and get out of here, now!”

The man scrambled to obey, hauling his friend up and dragging him out of the room. Sam followed, making sure they left the house. Dean heard the roar of an engine, then Sam returned. He leaned the shotgun against the wall and dropped to his knees next to his brother. His knife made short work of the zip ties that had cut into Dean’s wrists and ankles. Dean tried to stand, but was so unsteady that Sam pushed him back into the chair.

“You look like crap, dude,” Sam commented. 

Dean tried to smile, but his busted lip stopped him. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself. Now can we get out of here before those guys find their buddies and come back?”

Sam conceded the point and draped his brother’s arm over his shoulders. He had to stoop to provide Dean with enough support for him to walk, but he managed to get him to the Impala with only minimal cursing and groaning. Dean didn’t even protest as Sam helped him into the passenger seat. He simply leaned his head back and shut his eyes as his brother started the engine.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“How exactly did you manage to get yourself kidnapped and tortured in the time it took me to get a coffee?”

Dean sighed heavily and didn’t open his eyes. “Shut up...Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by @artists-garbage-can  
> Square A4 on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card


End file.
